A/N : If you want to support me or early access to chapters, consider becoming a patreon: patreon.com/keetarp.
★TDG FF has Early Access till Chapter 90.
★WMW FF(rewrite ) has Early Access till Chapter 39.
★WMW DL has Early Access till Chapter 50.
Join my community, accessible to all readers, discuss ideas, get updates and share photos and comments—https://www.patreon.com/chats/f10f809d279243e9a68849812a04ff8e
You can also support me through PayPal —https://www.paypal.me/ppratyay
...
The massive Mankestre snake's head, once held high with dominance, now lay limp against the cavern floor. Its tongue flickered weakly, convulsing in its final moments. A dark pool of blood seeped out from the gaping wound at its neck, forming a sickly, metallic-smelling puddle beneath its lifeless body. The battle was over.
Murphy let out a long, weary breath, his trembling hands reaching for a green-hued vial tucked into his belt. His face was pale, drained not only from exertion but from the sheer brutality of the encounter. He uncorked the bottle, tipping its contents into his mouth, and almost instantly, a faint color returned to his cheeks.
"Such a tragic fight…" he murmured, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield.
The once-formidable Black Iron Guards were now nothing more than scattered corpses. From an initial force of thirty, no one survived.
Out of all the Acolytes, only two had survived—himself and Leylin. Even then, the cost had been tremendous. Leylin's most formidable servant, the Grandknight servant, had been gravely wounded. Though not dead, his strength had been severely compromised, and his survival depended on immediate medical intervention.
Murphy turned toward the other body lying motionless on the stone ground—Viscount Jackson, the Grand Knight and lord of Extreme Night City. His breath was shallow, his chest sunken inward, and his face bore the ashen pallor of someone teetering on the brink of death. Beside him, the wounded half-beast knelt, silent and watchful, his fur matted with blood. (Image)
"City lord? Right, Leylin! Hurry and check on Jackson!" Murphy slapped his forehead as the realization struck him.
"He's alive. Just injured." Leylin's voice was calm, detached. He barely glanced at the fallen Grand Knight, instead stepping closer to the monstrous snake's corpse, his attention fixed on its lifeless body.
Murphy frowned, sensing something off about Leylin's behavior. But there was no time to ponder it.
He approached the enormous carcass, his fingers brushing against the coarse yellow-brown scales. "This snake hasn't even reached full maturity yet," he mused aloud. "If it had been an adult Withering Mankestre, our bodies would have been drained of moisture the moment we stepped into this cavern."
Leylin remained silent, observing Murphy carefully, his gaze unreadable. The older acolyte shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny but chose not to comment on it.
Instead, Murphy turned his focus to the remains of the creature's eyes—or what was left of them. The once-brilliant, pearl-like orbs had been completely shattered by Saeed's attack, with iridescent fluid leaking out from the wounds. A true pity.
"Even in this state, the materials on this snake's body are worth hundreds of magic crystals," he murmured, running his fingers over its tough scales. "But if it had its intact eyes, they alone would have fetched over a thousand each…"
Leylin finally spoke, his voice sharp and decisive. "I want all the blood. You can take the rest."
Murphy blinked in surprise. The demand was unusual but not entirely unreasonable. The blood of a magical beast like this held immense value for alchemical experiments, potions and rituals.
Leylin raised a hand and began chanting in an ancient, guttural tongue.
"Blood!"
A pulse of invisible energy rippled through the cavern.
Hu Hu!
The thick pool of blood surrounding the snake trembled, as if obeying an unseen force. Tendrils of crimson liquid slithered through the air, flowing toward Leylin's outstretched palm. The arcane process condensed the blood, compressing it until it solidified into smooth, glistening stones of deep red. (Image)
Murphy watched in fascination as the creature's once-mighty form withered before his eyes, its scales paling as its very essence was drained.
Minutes later, the ritual concluded. The massive Mankestre corpse had shrunk, appearing almost deflated, its blood essence now condensed into a dozen fist-sized stones in Leylin's hand.
Murphy exhaled slowly. He had no intention of stopping Leylin. If anything, he was relieved. If the younger acolyte had shown any hesitation or goodwill at this moment, that would have made him nervous. But Leylin was practical, ruthless in his efficiency—predictable in his cold ambition.
"Lets go." Leylin turned without another word, his cloak billowing behind him as he strode out of the cavern.
Saeed, his lost limb tightly wrapped, followed in silence.
....
News of the tragic expedition spread like wildfire.
Within hours, the city was in turmoil.
The city lord's castle had suffered an unprecedented loss. Not only had the elite Black Iron Guards been annihilated, but Viscount Jackson himself—a Grand Knight—had barely escaped with his life. His injuries were grave, and his absence from public affairs sent shockwaves through the city.
For years, Viscount Jackson's formidable presence had kept the dark factions at bay. Now, with him bedridden, uncertainty gripped Extreme Night City. Whispers of rebellion and power struggles brewed in the underbelly of society. Rival factions, long suppressed under Jackson's rule, saw this as an opportunity.
Even the acolytes once aligned with him had perished in the battle. The castle, once a beacon of authority, now stood vulnerable, its defenses weakened. The only remaining loyalist of any real strength was the half-beast warrior, but he alone was not enough to maintain control.
And yet, Leylin remained indifferent.
He had no interest in the city's politics.
Upon returning from the hunt, he locked himself in his laboratory, refusing invitations from both the city lord's castle and the surrounding factions.
His focus lay solely on the bloodstones he had acquired.
For days, he worked tirelessly, assimilating the powerful blood essence into his body. The Great Withering Mankestre snake had been just shy of reaching full maturity, making its blood an immensely potent resource for growth.
As the days passed, the effects became evident.
By the end of the first week, Leylin's strength had surged. His spiritual force, once stagnant, had climbed to an impressive seven—a breakthrough that would have taken others months, if not years, to achieve.
But he wasn't done.
With his foundation solidified, he now turned his attention to his next step—the Cursed Bloodline Codex.
He is now resolved to use the Bloodline Extraction to breakthrough the bottleneck and finally reach Level 3 Acolyte.
As the chaos of Extreme Night City continued to unfold, Leylin remained in the shadows, preparing for the next stage of his ascension.
And when he finally emerged, he would be stronger than ever.